Worldly Contemplations
by BTS-ARMY
Summary: Yao was the Grim Reaper who was cold to the core. He pitied the endless struggles humans had to go through and felt indifference to others' pain and despair. There is only one thing we say to Death..."not today." And that is exactly what one dying child said one night on the cold streets of Moscow. Rochu. GrimReaper!YaoxHuman!Ivan
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Heyy I'm really excited for this story, but there are a few things to note. 1. This is my very first fanfiction. I have never written anything this long with this many dialogues. I am both very proud and nervous at the same time. I apologize for any grammatical errors and weird sentence structures. I guess I'm trying to say, please be nice!**

 **2\. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but one thing led to another and I ended up writing more than I anticipated. So expect a few more chapters after this. Oh and also, the entire story was inspired from a quote in Game of Thrones, "not today" from the Arya's scene. But other than that, it has nothing to do with the show.**

 **3\. Yao is the Grim Reaper in the story, and Ivan is a human. Obviously I'll be using their human names, and I apologize for possible OOC from Yao. To be fair, this is how I imagine Yao from the imperial era to be XD**

 **4\. This is Rochu 100%, but nothing will be explicit. Other characters may be mentioned.**

 **5\. I do not own Hetalia (obviously)**

 **6\. I am very sorry for this long note! Enjoy!**

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 _"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death."-Revelation 6:8_

Darkness eclipsed him with the deepest of the flaming color. Millenniums of ever-lasting immortality had made him immune to sentiments and human emotions. The Grim Reaper knew the fragility of human life, pitied the endless struggles those feeble creatures had to go through, but most importantly, felt indifference toward all those that were chained down to the cycle of life. He was Death himself, and he was glorious. With lengthy black hair tumbling over his loosely worn red robe, he was the embodiment of black and red: the darkness that seemed to eat away at the remaining whisper of life, and the crimson blood coursing through the veins of every living creature. Death took away everything mercilessly; death did not discriminate between rich or poor; but when faced with death, there is only one thing to say…

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"Not today."

The Grim Reaper stared disbelievingly at the silver-haired boy. Perhaps he had underestimated this strange creature, as he tried to recall how he came upon the dying boy.

There was always so much to collect during times of war and famine. After seeing deteriorating corpses for millions of years, the immortal was no stranger to human cruelty and man-caused violence. However, even after all those years, he never became fond of Russia, and the deity that resided there. General Winter was a selfish man, the divinity concluded; _doesn't he know I'm busy as it is, without people dying from mere cold?_

Soon his point was proven, as he spotted sickness and despair spreading on the cold streets of Moscow. Beggars lined the sidewalks, while aristocrats wearing expansively tailored clothing under fur coats busily averted coming to contact with anything that reeked of poverty. Death did not choose people as he pleased; he took people whenever the situation presented itself, saved for a few exceptions. But right now he could sense life slipping away from a little bundle of tattered clothing huddled close to a lamp post. As he walked closer, he could see the outline of a little boy who was wearing way less than he should in this minus thirty degrees temperature. With only a thread-bare scarf to keep him warm, the little boy's hand gripped tightly around a broken bowl containing not a single coin.

"Hello little one, how are you?" Death kneeled down and asked; only people who were close to dying can see and hear him.

At the sound of a voice directed towards him, the boy's head snapped up and thought the person standing in front of him to be breathtaking. When the immortal was given a clear view of his face, he was surprised by the bright amethyst radiating back at him. For a child probably starved of nutrient for months, his cheeks were round and rosy. Death could not help but feel discomfort at the sight of this purple-eyed child who was no more than five years old. He blamed the strange feelings on the eyes. After all, he couldn't recall anyone who possessed such peculiar eyes, nor the fondness emitted within them.

"I'm…um…you're very pretty!" the child flushed at what came out of his mouth, and chastised himself for not answering the question.

"You think I'm pretty?" the immortal chuckled. It was not often that people called him that. Devastatingly beautiful, yes. Deviliciously handsome, yes. But never just a simple "pretty" used to describe mortal girls who were a little above average. Perhaps he should be insulted, but the feeling that surfaced was not an unkind one…

"Da! Your hair reminds me of burning charcoal and your lips…well, they're bright red like apples." The child's voice interrupted the Grim Reaper's train of thoughts, and he found himself once again staring into the deep violet of his eyes.

While the deity observed the child like a hawk investigating its unusual prey, the silver-haired boy thought he was in the presence of an angel. He did fulfill his wish. He had long lost count of how many freezing nights where he desperately wished for warmth, for anything signs that showed that his life wasn't utterly meaningless. But nobody cared; no one bothered to even acknowledge a little boy dying in the cold. He didn't expect anyone to help anymore; he just wished to not be alone. So when this man who smelled of iron and peony appeared in front of him, it was as if his heart slowed down and his breathing became faint.

"It's been so long since I talked to anyone. They all just ignored me… maybe that's because I've been a bad kid? Well mama certainly seemed to think so," the child more or less muttered to himself. "See, I have all these marks to prove it!" the child smiled as he proceeded to extend his painfully emaciated arm covered with bruises and scars. While the immortal was not shown anything he hadn't seen before, he was bothered by this boy's cheerful tone. More so, he was bothered by the fact that he felt bothered over such a feeble creature.

"But that doesn't matter now because you're here." The boy smiled brightly. "You're like a sunflower full of light! You're my light!" he giggled as he prided himself on making such an excellent comparison.

Sunflower? A flower so plain and dull that would make itself drop its head in shame when placed next to other flowers. And light? Oh dear, that boy is in it for a surprise, the immortal thought. But instead of showing disgust at the obviously ill-comparison, his was intrigued to know more about this misguided soul.

"What's your name, boy?" said Death as he wondered what caused the sudden curiosity of knowing a mere mortal's name, never mind a dying one at that.

"Ivan Braginsky, sir." The child blushed at the notion of telling his name to such a magnificent person. Truth to be told, he didn't have a last name. He didn't remember ever having a father, but he did recall once seeing a man who was dressed from head to toe in luxury and being referred to by the last name.

"Ivan..." the immortal tested the name on his lips, but before he could decide his opinion on it, he was disturbed by the child's sudden question. Well, he should have seen it coming.

"And what is your name?" childish ignorance and full of eagerness was this question directed toward the contemplating deity.

He supposed he had many names. They all liked to create titles for him, but none of which seemed proper for this child's question. Then an idea came over his head. It was a cruel one.

"My name is Yao. Nice to meet you, little Ivan," he smiled at the star-struck child. Oh, how ironic was the name he had given himself! Despite being the epitome of darkness and despair, his name was taken from a Chinese character representing light. _Well if Ivan thought I was his light, might as well call myself that._ The immortal decided to humor both himself and the young human child since he would soon be taking him away anyhow.

"Yao, Yao~ what a nice name," Ivan purred and extended out his hands attempting to reach Yao, to his surprise, the black-haired man got hold of his hands first and brought them to his cheeks.

"Little Ivan, would you like to stay with me forever?" Yao murmured softly as he nuzzled against Ivan's small hands. His blinding golden orbs penetrating into the equally glowing lavender ones, as if it was seeking to engulf the boy in whole.

Ivan's breathing slowed down, and his visions became blurry all except for the figure in front of him. This must be love, thought Ivan as he realized for the first time in his life that he was not alone in the cold.

"I want to be with you forever and forever…" Ivan replied in a hushed voice as he no longer could find the strength to answer. Strange how he could be so happy yet so tired at the same time that he just wanted to fall asleep in Yao's arms.

Noticing Ivan's drowsiness, Yao figured he didn't have much time left. "Well, would you like to come with me to some place far away from here?"

"Does that place have lots and lots of sunflowers?" Ivan looked up at him expectantly.

Yao chuckled at the simplicity of the question, "Yes, and delicious food too!" Even though the afterlife was nothing like the fantasy he was painting for the child, Yao was impatient to sink his teeth into the radiating soul.

Ivan signed happily, "I want to live there with Yao Yao…but."

"But what?" a hint of annoyance seeped through Yao's furrowed brows.

"Not today."

 _Excuse me?!_ What an insolent child, thought Yao as he became shocked that a mere human was defying Death himself. The Grim Reaper did not need anyone's permission to take a life or not, however he was surprised that a child who seemed so smitten with him a second ago would straightforwardly reject the idea of a paradise with him eternally. Even though he was feeding him lies, Ivan was the one who declared him to be his light.

Yao's shift in attitude unbeknownst to Ivan, the little boy continued, "Although I can't wait to go to that place, I still can't leave yet." His eyes dimmed down as he remembered the promise he made with the little girl and himself. No matter how bright the place Yao described to him seemed to be, he had a feeling in his stomach that it just wasn't the right time. Good things come to those who wait…even though he couldn't seem to remember where he heard it from.

"So you rather stay here in the cold than come with me?" Yao's eyes darkened as he spit out those words. It wasn't so much of a question, since it was more of a verification. He could snatch away the little boy's life right here and now; he could silence his heart beat this very second. However something stopped him.

"No! I want to go!" Ivan exclaimed, confused as to why his new friend was mad at him, "But I still have unfinished business here."

Maybe he did underestimate him. Maybe this human weakling did know who he truly was…Yao did not like being played with: to provoke his interest only to deny him of the pleasure. Surely Ivan knew how dangerous it was to cheat Death?

"Unfinished business? What can you possibly accomplish here?" said Yao smugly.

"I want to prove them wrong." The child declared, "I want to make them sorry for everything they ever did to me." Gone was the innocence, replaced by calm malevolence with streaks of vengeance.

For a moment there was silence. The world became quiet except for the sound of falling snowflakes. Then the peaceful solitude was interrupted by Yao's laughter.

He could not believe what he was hearing! That brat thought he could change his fate just like that?! Throughout centuries and centuries of being both a perpetrator and spectator of human despair, Yao had seen people struggle against their inevitable path. Humans were born alone, and they would die alone. No one was an exception. This boy would soon learn the truth about the world. He thought that this world was cruel to him now? He thought that the cold was unbearable? Well he had seen nothing yet.

Yao decided to indulge himself. He would leave the boy and Ivan himself would prove how fruitless his wish was. Yao didn't even have to lift a single finger, and Ivan would succumb to Death. What an interesting case this had turned out to be, it had been a while since anyone had caught his interest.

"Why are you laughing…?" Ivan pouted.

"Ha ha, I'm not laughing at you…" Yao tried to sound as sincere as possible, "I'm, um…just thinking that you are a very ambitious person." Smiling, he ran his fingers through Ivan's platinum hair hoping to conceal his ominous thoughts.

"That doesn't explain why you laughed…" Ivan muttered to himself, while trying to hide the blush spreading on his cheeks.

"I guess that's it, little Ivan," pulling his hands away, Yao stood up. "Since you're not coming with me today… this is goodbye for now."

"What! Yao Yao is leaving me?" realizing that his new, and possibly only, friend was leaving him, Ivan tried to grab onto Yao's hands. However all he grasped was cold air.

"Don't worry Ivan, I'll be back," replied Yao with his back to the child.

"You'll be back…ha…that's right, Yao is different from the others, Yao won't leave me," cried Ivan softly. With the man slowly disappearing from his view, Ivan mustered all the strength he had and yelled, "Yao! The next time you see me, I'll be strong!"

Leaving the child further behind among bodies of beggars and corpses, Yao smiled to himself. That kid was too weak to do anything; it was only a matter a time before he would pay him another visit. Or perhaps Ivan could prove him wrong and grew up to be a force to be reckoned with. It didn't matter; the end result would be the same. Ivan was bound to him. Everyone was.

Black hair fluttering in the wind, trailed by a scent of blood and peonies, Death, no…Yao wondered on the cold streets of Moscow. Despite having just encountered the lavender-eyed child, he was excited. Yes, excited, a word long forgotten by him. He was looking forward to the next time they meet where he would take him away. It would not be long now, for time was on his side. However as reassuring as that sounded, Yao could not help but feel a twinge in his heart, if he had a heart. Just as humans were chained down to him, they were also inescapable to time. The next time he would see Ivan, the amethyst-eyed little boy with chubby cheeks would be gone. Yao didn't know why he cared about this insignificant fact, or why he could not forget that smile, but he did know that he was alone, and would always be alone. Maybe he was the pathetic one. Chuckling to himself, Yao disappeared among the crowds.

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 **AN: Ok, first of all I avoided using their names in the beginning because Death did not have a name, and since I wrote it kinda from his perspective I thought it would be neat to only start using their names when Ivan told Death his name, and Death invented a name for himself (even though he did it as a joke). Yes, the little girl Ivan made a promise to is Natalya, and this will come into play later. I have already planned most of the story out, and I will definitely update if there are reviews.**

 **Haha just kidding! But I really would appreciate any form of feedback, and I would love to hear what you guys think! Thank you for reading! Hugs and Kisses ^J^**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'm back, and thank you so much for the reviews! I live off on them (haha, I hope I don't sound desperate XD). I had so much fun writing this chapter. Originally I planned to move on to the second phase of the story which involves a teenage Ivan, HOWEVER, like Yao, I couldn't say goodbye to little Ivan :'(. Therefore, due to my obsession with chibi Ivan, this chapter was born! Treat it as chapter 1.5, since it's more of a side story.**

 **Without further ado, enjoy!**

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Ivan was wrong. He was wrong in the sense that he was not strong the next time he saw Yao.

Shortly after his encounter with Death, Ivan was found by a young girl who came from an economically well-off family. When the pre-adolescent girl practically begged her parents to let him stay with them, the kind parents yielded to their little girl and adopted Ivan. It was almost fairy-tale like, except for Ivan's frail condition.

Ivan invited illness like he was cultivating disease. Surprisingly, for a boy who had survived the majority of his life in abuse and destitution, he could easily collapse under the tiniest of impact. It was a wonder, for everyone around him, why he lived for as long as he did. He had a persistent heart that kept pumping despite of life-threatening afflictions, according to the doctor. But Ivan knew better. It was his beloved Yao's frequent visits that motivated his heart to beat and a reason to open his eyes every morning.

The Grim Reaper could not describe his feeling when he realized that the Russian boy was a sickly child who required periodic arrivals from him. On one hand, he was glad that Ivan proved him right by being a weakling; however on the other hand, he was more than annoyed to listen to the human child rumble hours long about sunflowers and how he was going to have a garden full of them when he became older. Not to mention, he was forced to play various games with him. Needless to say, Yao was feeling more and more like an old fool. Maybe Ivan had found a way to trick him to come. After all, there was no way anyone who was close to death could be so energetic!

It was not as if letting Ivan braid his hair and put cheap trinkets in it weren't bad enough, Ivan even resorted to getting out of his bed and pleading with Yao to play hide and seek. What was the point of the game if Yao was always going to win? But then again, he would win at anything.

"I found you." Smooth hands masked over Ivan's doe-like eyes. At the sound of Yao's voice, Ivan happily spun around and jumped into Yao's arms.

"I knew you would! My Yao Yao would always find me!" Ivan snuggled against Yao's robe, contently breathing in the scent he had grown to love and not even caring that he had lost the game.

"Of course I would," said Yao in a less enthusiastic tone. "Now let's get you to bed, you promised me that if I win, you would go to sleep." His stern voice almost surprised himself as he contemplated over why he was acting like a strict parent. He didn't care if the boy lived or went with him…Ok, although he very much preferred the latter, the boy had already stated "not today" so he no choice but to let the boy live, for now. But if the boy refused to go to bed…No, he would not let himself listen to another hour of sunflower talk. Ivan was going to bed no matter what.

"No, Yao. Sleeping is boring! It's much more fun playing with you," Ivan whined and proceeded to put on his best puppy eyes.

Little did he know that the ancient Yao was immune to petty tricks like these.

"Stop complaining, a deal is a deal," lifting Ivan over his shoulders, Yao carried him to his bed. "You can't grow up to be strong if you don't get your sleep." That and Ivan did have a high fever of forty degrees.

Putting Ivan on his soft mattress, Yao was just about to leave when he felt a pair of small hands yank a handful of his hair. _That brat._

"You can't leave yet," Ivan smiled innocently, unaware of the dark aura emitting from Yao. "I can't sleep unless you tell me a story, Da?"

Tired of arguing with an unreasonable child, Yao returned to the bed and tucked Ivan under his blankets. He figured if he was going to pretend to be a parent-figure to Ivan, he might as well do it to the best of his abilities.

"I don't know any stories. Go to sleep."

"But I won't go to sleep if I don't hear any stories!" Ivan stubbornly insisted.

"Is this how you would talk to your parents?" Yao pondered on how much his new parents were spoiling him.

"But Yao is not my parent. You're my…um…" Indeed, what was Yao to him? He was clearly not his mom or dad since he was recently adopted. He did not resemble an older brother either; he was nothing like his big sister Yekaterina. So Yao Yao must be his best friend! But somehow that notion did not bring comfort to him. Ivan realized he did not want to be Yao's friend, so what would he call this fondness then… Ivan decided that he loved Yao, and left it at that.

"Fine, promise me you will go to sleep after I tell you a story," Yao sighed and settled for complying with the boy's wishes.

"I promise! You know I would never lie to you." Ivan smiled playfully while clinging onto Yao's arms.

"Sure, sure." Already used to Ivan's mischievous nature, Yao began his story.

"Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was a…" Almost instantly, he was interrupted by Ivan.

"Does it have to be in a land far away? Why can't the story take place here?" Ivan thought it would be better for the story to be closer to home.

"Well it doesn't matter… ok fine, have it your way," at this point Yao just wanted Ivan to fall asleep.

"In a land called Russia, there lived a little IvanBear…"

"Why does the bear have my name?" Ivan interrupted once again.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" it was not a question as Yao's patience was wearing thin.

"Go on Yao," scared that Yao might change his mind and not tell him a story, Ivan vowed to keep his mouth shut.

"The little IvanBear living in the vast lands of Russia was a content bear who was happy with just drinking vodka all day. However deep down inside he was lonely. He longed to have a friend. The bear loved watching snowflakes fall from the sky, and he would create names for each snowflakes. Raivis, Eduard, and Toris were his favorite names for the snowflakes. However, no matter how many times he named the snowflakes, in the end they would all melt under his touch. The bear would only bring destruction to others, so he decided to build a wall around his heart. Drowning himself in vodka, IvanBear spend centuries alone watching snowflakes fall to the ground. One day, as he was wondering around for more vodka, he saw a strange creature shuffling around in snow. 'Hi, I'm Panda!' the bizarre animal said. It was love at first sight for IvanBear, for he craved a companion. IvanBear and Panda quickly became friends, and they were inseparable. IvanBear was no longer alone, and Panda was grateful for the bear's friendship. However, nothing lasted forever…Panda soon became sick from the cold, and IvanBear could do nothing but watch his friend's health deteriorate day after day. Panda was not suited for living in the snowy wasteland of Russia, but the little bear refused to let his friend go. He would rather allow Panda to die, than to be alone again…"

Noticing that the plot suddenly took a dark turn, Yao stopped and questioned where the story even came from. It was not an appropriate bedtime story. Worried to find Ivan in tears, Yao quickly looked down, and to his relief, Ivan was already sleeping soundly.

What a silly child, the Grim Reaper thought. Of course he named the bear after Ivan because the boy himself resembled an adorable polar bear. Perhaps he could craft a stuffed animal to amuse the child, or would he prefer something to do with sunflowers… Ivan's coughing woke Yao from his trance as he remembered the reason he was here in the first place.

How could he forget for a second that he was Death and all he could do was rain despair upon all living beings. Moving away from Ivan, Yao knew that his presence would only make the child's health worse.

Yao welcomed tranquil isolation and took pleasure from watching others grew old and decay while he would always remain eternally beautiful. No matter how exquisite a flower might bloom, there would always come a day when it would wither and shrink under the persisting sun. He used to pity the short-lived flowers, but now he felt contempt towards them. How dare they have the nerve to flourish when all they got were just a few days. How dare they have the irresponsibility to live and fade away with time.

Suddenly his mind drifted back to the little bear in his story. An amusing thought entered his head and he contemplated the idea of what he would do if he was the bear… He supposed that it was better to stop where he did since the story did not have a happy ending. The bear was a selfish bear.

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 **AN: Dun dun dun! Is this foreshadowing something? Hmm, I don't know, you have to read on to find out ;))**

 **IvanBear Story: Ok, most of you guys have probably figured out the representation behind the story. Even though the bear is called Ivan, it is actually symbolizing Yao, the lonely immortal, instead of the Russian child. Yao existed since the dawn of time, and in the beginning, he was curious about his abilities and loved living beings. However with time, he realized that he could only take away lives and never be a part of the world he adored. So he built a wall around his heart (the Great Wall of China, get it? XD). The snowflakes falling to the ground meant people dying, and Panda represents Ivan. Oh another interpretation can be that IvanBear is Russia, and Panda is China, and the story parallels the Sino-Soviet relations in the twentieth century.**

 **I'm sorry that this chapter is not very descriptive or expressive(not to mention it's short), but I wanted to focus to highlighting their relationship and character developments. Don't worry, the next chapter will be full of imagery and scenery depictions! And teenage Ivan! And angst!**

 **Thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear what you guys think about this so far! Hugs and Kisses ^J^**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey guys, I hope you are having a wonderful day! Thank you for the reviews, favs, and follows! They remain my source of motivation :)**

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The rain bore down mercilessly upon the heart of the city, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of Moscow into a warren of slick stones and muddy waters. The water droplets fell like they simply could not think of anything better to do. There was a laziness about them, as if they could barely be bothered to conform to the will of gravity. Ivan held his bare arm out and watched as droplets splatter on his outstretched fingers, mixing with blood. It was supposed to be a grotesque sight; instead it was calming almost, with the rain coming down on him washing away his sins… However, as attempting as that sounded, Ivan knew he was beyond saving.

On the sidewalk of the playground was a rainbow sheen - all that was left of a kid's game of hopscotch. The outline was still there, a ghostly shadow of what it was before the heavy rains pounded over the city. Ivan's eyes stayed on his feet across the washed out game and his muscles yearned to hop, to skip. But his childhood days were long gone. The rivers of blood coming down from his wounds were evident enough.

Droplets of rain fell in crazy chaotic tempo, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next. But if he had a choice, he would take them over snow any day. Yes, the snow reminded him of his pathetic vulnerability, and he despised feeling powerless. Funny that he thought that way considering the state he appeared to be in. Lying motionless in a playground surrounded by his own blood fusing with the rain, it was a poetic painting tainted by red.

How did it all turn out like this? Was it something he'd done? He had heard somewhere that his life would flash before his eyes during moments of death, but the only memory he could focus on were the snowy winter nights and the face of that man. But, he wasn't even human was he? Ivan silently mused.

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After being saved by a kindhearted family, even though he was mostly bedridden for the first half of his childhood, his health quickly improved and he spent the next few years living joyfully with his new family. The parents treated him as if he was their own, and his older sister Yekaterina spoiled him to no ends. Just when he thought that he was finally allowed to be happy, fate laughed. His world was able to change in one night, and his world changed again when his parents' business crumpled. At first it didn't seem as bad as it did; sure they were having trouble paying the rent and putting food on the table, however they believed they could overcome this as a family. Frequent complaints from the landlords eventually became violent beatings. Neighboring gangs would take advantage of their situation, and rob them of their remaining possessions. Despite their dire position, Ivan was optimistic that things would get better. It never did.

Coming home from school one day, the familiar sight of the town was made hazy by a mist and the scent of blood lingered in the air. For a moment, Ivan's heart ached to see the face that only existed in his imagination and haunted his dreams. As the mist thickened into a dense fog, he accelerated his footsteps and ran to catch a glimpse of the elusive silhouette. The silvery mist licked at every surface, and the world became blurry; he was charging into vapors of illusions but he didn't care. As if he was being led by the red string of fate, Ivan arrived at his own doorstep. The fragrance of blood invaded his senses, and carefully pushing the unlocked door aside, he was welcomed by the sight of his parents bathing in blood.

First, he was disgusted. He was disgusted at himself for feeling disappointed at the absence of that figure. Second, he could not remember what happened afterward, as everything became a blur. Yes, he could recall the piercing sound of his sister's cry. He could visualize images of neighbors and policemen turning a blind eye. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on his surroundings, his mind was an empty matryoshka.

Perhaps a day had passed, or two days, or a week…maybe a month, regardless of the number of days he spent in a haze, Ivan woke up one morning with the air perfumed by a heavy scent of the forbidden red. Fearing for the safety of his sister, he rushed to her room only to find her asleep with running mascara dried up on her face. Breathing in a sigh of relief, he returned to his room. The smell was still there, but something else was there beside the blood. Suddenly becoming intoxicated by the scent, Ivan was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia. Beside blood, there was the aroma of peony.

Not having the time to properly mourn over the death of his parents, Ivan had to grow up faster than others. He took it upon himself to protect his sister who had to cry herself to sleep every night. While others his age were riding bicycles and playing hopscotch, he was engaged in street fights and aggressive brawls with opponents much older and more experienced than him. But that didn't matter. The only people more frightening than the criminals were the insanes. Even as he was faced with unbeatable enemies, one look into his emotionless lavender eyes, and one would realize that this boy was not afraid of death. He would do anything to win, anything to be strong. Living in a world where the strong preyed on the weak, it was the only way he believed he could survive. He never wanted much; all he ever wanted was to live happily with his family and have a garden full of sunflowers. Was it really too much to ask? Apparently it was.

Even as formidable as he was, there would come a day when a small mistake became a fatal blow. Somehow completely unguarded as Ivan was tracing his fingers over the left-over chalk of hopscotch, he was ambushed by a crowd of more than twenty people. If it wasn't for the impossibility of coming out alive, he almost felt flattered by the number of people they thought had required to take him down. Screams broke out, and blood was spilled. In the end, Ivan was left barely conscious on the ground. It was the rain that stirred him, and he woke to see the world drenched in an invisible blanket of melancholy.

* * *

He smiled when his conscious started slipping away. He smiled when the sidewalk was covered with his blood. He smiled because he knew that _he_ was coming.

"Hello Ivan," a deafening sound resonated above his ears.

"Yao Yao, you finally came," Ivan did not expect his voice to be so full of longing and fragility. "I miss you, did you miss me?" he whispered.

His only reply came from the pitter-platter of the rain. The Grim Reaper stood solemnly in front of him, completely unaffected by the downpour.

He was just like how he remembered him to be. Hair so black against skin so white shone silently against sheets of rain. Eyes containing spots of red danced in his irises and grew to swallow the gold. As Ivan looked into his eyes, he could feel him searching deep into his soul.

"I see… you like playing the silence game huh?" Ivan attempted to disregard the pitiful state he was in, but chocked on the blood coming up his throat nonetheless. "Well, I'll talk then…I'll tell you all about what I've been up to these days…"

"Stop, that's unnecessary." Yao spoke emotionlessly, his eyes never straying away from the boy.

Yao always thought that he was the wicked one, but it turned out that time was much more cruel. The bright-eyed little boy was no more, and in his place was replaced by a hollow shell of a man. Silver hair matted with mud and blood sat upon his head. The lavender eyes which Yao once adored were infected by sickly desperation and misery. His potentials for developing attractive facial features were butchered by cuts old and new and his face was now no more than a ragged remainder of what it could have been. Ivan resembled a gutter rat drowning in a sewer, but he was still his to take, Yao thought achingly.

Why didn't he take the little boy when he had the chance? Why did he wait this long for them to meet again? What was the point he was trying to make, and to whom was he making this point? The boy in front of him was the proof of his monstrosity. He let this happen… Just when Yao was going to reach for Ivan's hands, he heard the boy's sentiments.

"Haha, even after all these years you never cared, Da?" a part of Yao he never knew existed twinged. "I loved you so much! But that never mattered to you! " hidden pain and anger threatened to explode after years of constrain.

"Do you know what they used to call me?" Ivan resumed. "They said I was crazy! They said I was insane for believing in my imaginary friends! Only that you're not imaginary, Da? You're real, Yao! You're real!"

Yao looked at the familiar stranger in front of him. Despite how Ivan appeared, Yao was the one who felt dead inside.

"Why won't you answer me, damn it!" His voice was reaching a dangerously high octave, while his vocal cords were on the edge of breaking. "Yao! Stop looking at me with those condescending eyes! Who do you think you are?!"

"Ivan…"

"No!" His screams were muffled by the sound of the rain; however Yao could hear them like crystal bells.

"No, you don't know anything! You don't know what I went through all these years! You were there when they died, don't try to deny it, I know you were there!" Ivan no longer knew why he was shouting; it was an ugly animalistic emotion eating away at his senses.

"Yet you did nothing! You don't care about anything but yourself and your selfish desires!" Unable to stop, he continued screaming. "You think I don't know what you are? You are not human! You are incapable of understanding human emotions!"

"Ivan, please…take that back." Almost begging, Yao pleaded with him to stop.

"You only bring destruction and despair to others; you'll never understand how others feel! You'll never understand how I feel! You should have left me for dead in the snow!"

With words, a war could be wrought or a peace brokered. With words a heart could be healed or torn beyond repair. At that moment, Yao had heard enough.

Previously at least two feet away from Ivan, Yao suddenly emerged right in front of him. Their faces only a few centimeters apart…Perhaps the unexpected intimacy had taken him by surprise, for he had not noticed Yao's fingers curling around his neck.

"Is that what you wish, boy?" his words soft as feathers laced with poison. "To die?"

Ivan would never forget how his eyes looked right there and then. It momentarily erased all memories of the Yao whom he loved, and in its place was the unforgiving face of Death.

Yao's fingers tightened around Ivan's throat where a fresh wound was left after an unsuccessful attempt at killing him earlier. His fingers dug into the untreated gash and blood seeped through his fingers like honey dripping from the comb. Despite Ivan's whimpering, Yao continued to sink his fingers further into his neck where he could feel his flesh and muscles, and he wondered if he should sever his arteries and veins.

"Wait, Yao…I'm sorry…" Ivan groaned.

"No you're not." Yao smiled as if he was pointing out a fact.

"Fine, I despise you." Ivan glared at him with fear and resentment.

"I thought you loved me," Yao proceeded to choke the life out of the dying boy.

His whole body was trembling and the adrenaline coursing through his system was shutting down his ability to think and breathe. Incapacitated in fear, Ivan was desperate to live. He couldn't die, he couldn't die… Perhaps due to a primordial instinct embedded in human DNA, he was contaminated with the fear of death.

"Yao, I'm begging you…please…"

"Ha...ha, ha. You humans are such hypocrites." Yao's laughter echoed in the rain. "You guys never know what you want."

Streaks of pure white crackled against a stormy blanket of grey.

"You want to live now? Ok, beg for your life." Eyes glinting in the rain, Yao instructed. The distance between them shortened, as Ivan could feel his warm breath on his face.

"Tell me that I'm beautiful. Tell me you love me." Yao taunted. "Say that you're worthless and deserve to die."

"You're…beautiful…I…love…" Drowning in rain, Ivan gasped for air. "…You."

"Louder. Proclaim it to the whole world." Yao pressed.

"You…are beautiful…" Suddenly his vocal cords broke, but the pain was nothing compared to the proximity to death he felt.

"Anything else?" Without a trace of sympathy, Yao smirked. "Whatever. I guess it's time for me to speak…You are weak. You will never be strong. You are nothing but a passing fancy for me. Did you honestly think I saved you back then out of the goodness of my heart? Don't make me laugh, little boy. I just wanted to see how long it would take until the world torn you apart. Oh yes, that's right. You said the next time you saw me, you would be strong? Well, look where you are now."

With motion as swift as lightning itself, Yao was just about to end his life when he saw Ivan's lips moved.

"Not today." He mouthed.

Like a great rush of water, memories of Ivan came back to him.

 _You're like a sunflower full of light! You're my light! I want to be with you forever and forever…_

 _My Yao Yao would always find me! The next time you see me, I'll be strong!_

And just like that, he felt so tired; he was exhausted of simply existing. The little boy who was not afraid of him was now looking at him with terror and anxiety. He thought that Ivan would be different… He thought that Ivan was not like the rest…but alas, he had grown to fear him too. There simply was no point in him being there anymore. The boy wanted to live? Well, Ivan could do whatever he want, since he no longer cared.

Yao took his hands off his throat. Bringing his bloodstained hands to Ivan's face, he slowly caressed his cheeks.

"You know, I missed you too… I'm sorry that our reunion ended up like this," his soft lips stretched into a smile but didn't quite reach his dark eyes, as they were lit with sadness.

Ivan wondered why he was ever mad at Yao. Why did he scream at him like a fool? What were they even arguing about? Never in his life had he wanted to turn back the time so much, not even when his parents died. He just wanted Yao to show that he cared… Regret fell on him colder than the snowstorm he endured during his childhood; guilt gnawed on him like maggots were in his guts.

Pupils moving frantically, Ivan tried to form the words of "don't leave."

However Yao hushed him and murmured, "You have said enough."

And just like that he was gone.

Was he ever here to begin with? Ivan suspected. Maybe he was just a figment of his imagination conjured from delusions of childish memories. Maybe they were right, and he was crazy… But the burning pain surrounding his throat became evidence for his sanity. Whether he was real or just an illusion, the fact remained that Ivan was alone.

Blood continued to seep though his body and the rain fell without even a care in the world. Ivan felt beads of water running down his face. They had a salty taste to them. They seemed different from the raindrops.

Pitter-patter.

He closed his eyes and let the darkness engulf him. The sound of rain fading as they eventually became distant reminiscence.

* * *

 **AN: I love rainy days, and I just had to find a way to squeeze that into the story...somehow(I hope I didn't overdo it with the weather :'D) Anyhow, I have a habit of writing down descriptive phrases from novels that inspire me, and this chapter is full of influences from those things. Let me know if you like this type of illustrative writing, or you would prefer if I jump straight to the plot lol.**

 **I adore Ivan, and it breaks my heart to write this chapter. But this is only the beginning for Ivan...**

 **Trivia: When Ivan first met Yao, he was four years old, in this chapter he is fourteen years old, and in the next chapter he will be twenty-four years old. Can anyone guess the significance of these numbers? XD**

 **Finally, I am genuinely really curious about your thoughts on this chapter. Feedback is always appreciated! Hugs and Kisses ^J^**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Heyy! We now enter the third phase of Ivan's life, this will be divided into two parts! Ten years have passed since the last chapter. Oh Alfred and the FACE family makes an appearance!**

* * *

 _Dear Yekaterina,_

 _This is the first day they have allowed us to write letters since this battle began and I have no doubt you are anxious to hear from me. I'm sorry I couldn't write sooner, it's very hard to attain any stationery here… Well I guess you must be worried sick, please don't cry. The reason I signed up for this is because I want you to have a better life. Did you receive the money I send home?_

 _Vietnam is quite different from Russia I suppose, the cold here isn't unbearable but the heat is something else! I know you always wanted to see the world outside of Moscow, and you will I promise… We, no I, just need to finish my task. I miss you Katyusha… I have no one here. I am just one of Soviet soldiers whose life is worth less than a dime on the battlefield. But I am quite well known in the squad! They call me the Winter Solider. Isn't that funny? Before you start worrying again, I assure you I did not misbehave or start any trouble._

 _The food here is enough to keep me alive and they give me shelter too. I am well, and I will be back soon. By the time this letter reaches you, I'll probably be on my way home. Be safe, my dear sister._

 _With love,_

 _Ivan._

Staring at the letter for at least five minutes, Ivan wondered if his sister could tell if he was lying. People were dropping like flies from left to right and he didn't know when he would be next.

Taking one last look at the letter, he decided to crumple it and toss it into the fire nearby. Ivan watched as the flame leapt like an uncaged tiger eager to devour the paper. There was no point in giving her false hope. So even if he could not fulfill his promise, his sister would never have any expectation to begin with. Silently he prayed to whoever was listening from above, either _him_ or the mighty deity known as General Winter. Please spare her sister.

He was interrupted by the pain infiltrating through his neck. It was a while ago when he was hospitalized from a neck wound that was deemed inoperable. The doctors looked at him and said there was not much they could do. He might live or die. They gave him but a grey rag and a little basin to clean his own wound. When the pain was not unbearable he would wipe his neck with the rag until the water in the basin was the color of the comb on a male turkey. But mainly the wound had wanted to clean itself. Before it started scabbing, it spit out a number of things: a collar button and a piece of wool collar from the shirt he had been wearing when he was hit, a shard of soft grey metal as big as a quarter dollar piece, and unaccountably, something that resembled a peach pit. That last he studied for some days. He could never settle his mind on whether it was a part of him or not. He finally threw it outside the window but then had troubling dreams that it had taken root and grown, like Jack's bean, into something monstrous.

This and many others were the parts he left out in the letter. He thought that he had seen it all, but the battlefield was nothing more than a burial ground for testing out one's luck. Luck. That was all there was to it. It was a miracle that his neck had an inhumane ability to heal; there was that time when his vocal cords broke, and just last year he was shot in the neck. Perhaps that was the reason many in the army feared him. Not only was he a towering foreigner with distinctive facial features different from East Asians. He had escaped death many times. No one had entered the battlefield and avoided the kiss of death as many times as he had. No one had survived the fatal injuries he endured. Soon whispers began swarming through the camps that Ivan was one of the rumored super soldiers created by the Soviet Union. Ivan didn't mind the rumors; it was better to have others fear him than to have them bother him, or even worse, befriend him. Friendship on the no man's land was as fleeting as the glimmering light of a firefly. Still, he knew the cause of his relentless body refusing to rot was mainly due to _his_ unwillingness to visit him, to even look at him. But if Death changed his mind even the slightest, he would be gone in less than a second. After all, he was already surrounded by the odor of blood and human filth.

When nights fell, Ivan could not go to sleep unless he recounted the memories of his childhood with that aloof immortal. If he closed his eyes and shut his ears to the sound of screaming gunfire in the not-so-distant background, he could pretend he was still a child tucked safely under his blankets drifting off to sleep accompanied by the humming of a woeful lullaby.

* * *

" _Yao, why does this sound so sad?" Ivan looked up at him puzzled._

" _Whether something is sad or not is up to one's perspective," Yao quickly dismissed the question, "It doesn't sound sad to me."_

" _Well actually, this song reminds me of you," smiling to himself, Ivan reached for Yao's hands._

 _Pushing his hands away, Yao gazed at him curiously, "How so?"_

" _When I close my eyes, I can see a figure standing in a field of sunflowers. And if I concentrated hard enough, that figure looks exactly like you!" Ivan closed his eyes and demonstrated what he meant. "Even though you are surrounded by sunflowers, you are lonely…that's why you're sad, da?"_

" _What makes you think I'm lonely?" Yao challenged humorously._

" _You're lonely because you visit me almost every day! But that's ok; I was lonely before you came along too!" Ivan cried out gleefully completely forgetting he was still sick from the cold._

 _Yao laughed at the candid revelation. How simple was everything through a child's eyes. Simple, but true._

" _You're quite right Ivan. I am lonely. That's why you have to keep me company," tenderly, Yao patted his head._

 _Overjoyed at Yao's rare display of affection, the child jumped out of his woolen covering and rushed into the hesitant but warm arms. Satisfied, Ivan rested his head comfortably against his chest, and put up no resistance to sleep._

 _The last words he heard were, "You asked me why the lullaby sounds sad? Well, when you lived for as long as I have, there's nothing more smoothing than the acceptance of an inevitable parting…"_

* * *

Ivan could still recall some broken notes from that hunting melody. But it was never the same when he tried to hum it himself; usually, he would just receive weird stares from his bunkmates, and further confirmation for themselves that Ivan was not right in the head. Due to his insomnia, he had a lot of time to think about the immortal. Had he existed since the beginning of time? Was he always like that? Questions piled upon questions, but he would always return to one. How lonely was he?

Yao was stuck in an eternity of what he was going through during these years of fighting on the battlefield. Yao was used to other's despair, regret, and hatred for cutting down the thin thread connecting their lives to the mortal realm. Ivan despised himself for not caring to understand him more when he had the chance. How could he be so ignorant of the darkness clinging to every inch of Yao's pale skin?

Oddly, his thoughts meandered off to something he could never wrap his mind around. During his childhood, when Yao frequently visited him…was he sick because of Yao? Or was it the other way around, where Yao was there because he was sick? It was a paradox of conflicting nature. But he supposed that Yao himself was a paradox.

Thinking about Yao could always make him forget about where he was and the things he'd done during the day. He was a murderer killing without a cause, fighting for a war paved with skeletons of unknown soldiers. Every time when he had to fight, he would pretend that the person he just shot was merely flesh and bone. A dead corpse devoid of feelings, a lifeless puppet whose strings were simply detached. He could learn to be like Yao, taking lives without a hint of uncertainty… But those people he killed were not sacks of meat interwoven with bones. They were exactly like him.

 _Men screamed in pain clutching their grievous wounds as bullets danced in straight lines in a chaotic waltz. Alfred was heavily injured with at least three bullets deeply imbedded in his lower leg, torso, and one dangerously close to his heart. The blood soaked through his uniform, radiating outward. He thought it was a shame that something his twin brother, Matthew, had so diligently sewed with care was stained with such a ruthless color. The war was nothing as glorious as he envisioned. It was not glorious; it was not heroic; it was unforgiving. Just like the words his older brother gave him when he left home for the army._

 _Ever since he was a child, he wanted nothing more than to serve his country. America, golden land of the free. He was the poster boy for American patriotism, his enthusiasm making up for his brothers' lack thereof. He had three older brothers, but none shared his love for being blindly heroic. Or perhaps his willingness to die, Alfred now realized. When the news of the impending war in Vietnam arrived in the states, Alfred jumped at the chance for enlistment. When he told his proposals to his family, to say that they disapproved was an understatement. Arthur gawked disbelievingly at his younger brother, stunned at how naïve he was. Francis stopped whatever he was doing, and prayed he was only dreaming. Matthew inhaled sharply and held the breath of air for what seemed like an eternity._

 _What followed were months of begging from Francis and Matthew attempting to change his mind, while Arthur screamed and threatened to kick him out of the house. Their efforts were all in vain; as much as Alfred loved his family, his dream was more important, however evanescent as it might be._

 _As the day arrived for him to leave, he was send away by only his two brothers, as Arthur refused to see him ever since he submitted his application for the army. Standing by the doorway, for the first time he felt uncertainty and remorse._

" _You're gonna be alright, without me here Mattie?" flashing him his signature grin as a cover for whatever feeling was bubbling inside of him, he teased "Don't miss me too much."_

" _Alfred, please…" lips trembling, Matthew sniffled back a sob willing himself to not break down and cry for his brother's sake._

" _And Francis," looking at his eldest brother, Alfred felt a sense of guilt for causing such pain on his brother's face. Francis was always the handsome one among the brothers, the one most girls would flock to. But right now, greasy hair framed his face, and two black petals lodged under his tired eyes. "I guess I said all there needed to say in the past few days… Is Arthur really not coming down?"_

 _Knowing there was nothing he could do that would change Alfred's mind or Arthur's decision for that matter, Francis replied, "I'm so sorry, Alfred." Those words did not only refer to his inability to convince Arthur to bid their younger brother a final farewell._

" _It's ok," Alfred told him not to worry. Silence ensued for the next three minutes. Realizing Arthur really wasn't going to come down from his room any time soon, Alfred planted his hand on the doorknob and was just about to leave when heavy footsteps sounded against the squeaky wooden stairs._

" _Stop right there you idiot! If you take a step outside of this house, you will not be my brother anymore!" Breathlessly, Arthur shouted at Alfred who was already holding an opened door. Despite his harsh words, his riveting emerald eyes told a different story. 'You will always have a home here', that was what he meant to say._

 _Alfred took one last look at his family and stepped out of the house._

 _Now there was nothing he wanted more than to go home. Blood coated Alfred's fingers like caramel over an apple, only brilliant red instead of soft golden browns. It gushed like fountains of red from his wounds, and he felt paralyzed from the throbbing agony. He had to go home, his brothers were waiting for him…He chanted this like a mantra, urging himself to chase after the disappearing light. He almost had himself believe that he was going to make it out alive when he felt cold metal pressed to his forehead._

 _Kneeling in the mud, he was facing a tall man with a gun pointed at him. He had silver hair, and Eastern European features, he must be one of those Soviet soldiers, Alfred thought._

" _Please… don't do it," Alfred desperately voiced. "I have a family back home… they're waiting for me, and I still haven't told them that,"_

 _His pleading was cut off as a single bullet tore effortlessly through his skin and skull, allowing his conscious to fade. He heard a loud thud as his body hit the cold ground, but he could no longer feel the impact. The pain that once burned like fire had dissipated away to an icy numbness. Black filled the edges of his vision, but beyond the darkness he could see the outline of his house in America. There Arthur was sipping his afternoon tea with the newspaper in one hand, and Francis was busily fixing their garden full of roses. 'I'm home!' he would yell, and at the sound of his voice he would see Matthew running down the stairs to greet him; Arthur would drop his teacup spilling Earl Grey everywhere, and Francis would start waving frantically at him with tears in his eyes, but he wasn't the only one crying. Walking towards his brothers, Alfred took his last breath._

Ivan wondered about the men he had to kill. The American soldiers who, just like him, had left their home to participate in a war on foreign land. Did they have families waiting back home for them too? Did they have sisters or brothers who would weep at their demise? Would their brothers hate him with a passion for taking away their loved ones' lives? Was he breaking apart families by being in this war? Yes, he was. However just like all the others, he was simply a man too. His own sister was waiting for him back home, and he would do whatever it takes to survive, even if it meant erasing the faces of the men who haunted his dreams and demanded justice. But there was no justice to be won on the battlefield.

* * *

The battlefield lay quiet, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Their corpses lay among the buttercups and forget-me-nots. The sun still shone and the wind still blew, but somewhere mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters waited in vain. These men that were once boys who played in the yard with sticks and laughed at each other's silly tales were now meat for the birds. Their eyes were as immobile as their limbs. Their souls had long departed to the celestial planes to walk with their ancestors. The battle was over… for now, and both sides suffered incredible damages.

Ivan was enshrouded in mountains of dead men, and he was beginning to feel like one himself. His limbs were all out of commission, and his throat was as dry as the trackless desert that craved rain. He was lucky that he was not dead yet, but it was only a matter of time if no help was to arrive. Far in the distance, he watched as a shadow approached. He hoped with his dear life that the person was from his army, and not the enemies. Although he supposed that it would be very hard for that person to differentiate between him and the corpses.

The footsteps echoed sharply on the silent cemetery, sounding overly loud in his ears, like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner. He was not able to raise his head due to his dislocated shoulders, but he did catch a glimpse of strands of black hair. That person could help him, if only he could make himself known.

"Over here," Ivan grunted. "I'm from the R1230 units." He clarified just in case that person could not tell from his uniform.

Confusion made its way through his mind as he felt cold fingers lifting his chin up to face whoever was standing in front of him.

"I know where you're from," the voice rumbled across the field dyed with red. And at that moment, Ivan felt he was home.

* * *

 **AN: Alfred, noooo! It's safe to say that Alfred's story was my favorite part of the chapter. I included him as a parallel to Ivan, to show how different they were but essentially the same. He also served to represent the nameless soldiers who died in war, even though they may be forgotten by history, it's important to realize they had families too, and they are not just numbers on a textbook.**

 **I did not do that much research on this chapter, so it may not be historically correct. However, war is a terrible thing and I wanted to show the horrors of the battlefield. War begins by calling for the annihilation of the others but ends ultimately in self-annihilation. It corrupts souls and mutilates bodies. It destroys homes and tears families apart...**

 **Ok, let's end on a brighter note. Part two is coming out soon, so look forward to that! Thanks for sticking with this story, and don't forget to leave a comment. Hugs and Kisses ^J^**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Welcome back! Part 2 is mostly written from Yao's perspective, enjoy!**

* * *

This story was bound to be a tragedy. He was always the cause for tragedies, so his own story should be no different. But the moment he walked away from that child, Yao knew he was disobeying his own rules.

Ivan was going to die.

But against the gravity of his own will, he did not take away Ivan's life. Sure, he had convinced himself that he simply did not care anymore, however that was not an excuse for neglecting his task. There was no punishment for his mishap, only the recognition that he was developing human emotions.

Humans were such wretched creatures. They were always overridden by their emotions and love for people and things, which could break them and they would fall so deep into a pit of grief and mourning. Yet when he first saw Ivan, he could not help but marvel at the hope in his eyes, the hope that was lost ten years later. Whatever he was feeling were uncanny and forbidden. He knew this. He knew it very well. But despite his repulsion for his own contemplations, he could never abandon the boy.

He was always there. Watching. Even when Ivan thought that Yao despised him, he was there.

Just as he disappeared from Ivan's sight, he did not vanish and leave the boy behind. Instead he stood a few blocks away and waited as Ivan was found by his older sister. He watched as she carried him away by the arm, stumbling a few times and scrapping her knees in the process. He watched the pitiful pair of siblings staggering in the rain attempting to reach a safe haven. He watched as she nursed him back to health and watched as Ivan promised her he would live for her sake. All that time, without a word, without a sound, Yao lurked in the dark keeping his distance yet never straying too far.

Like a silent guardian, Yao shadowed Ivan for the next ten years. After Ivan recovered from his injuries, he took on several jobs and did whatever he could to support his family, even though his sister was all that was left of his family. Both siblings worked days and nights trying to change their fate, but every new dawn meant nothing more than the start of another day filled with disappointment and fatigue. Years passed as if nothing had changed… until one day when Ivan saw the newspaper ad for army enlistment. The war was not a direct confrontation of Russia with another country; Ivan was never patriotic or fond of his government, but he knew he needed the money. He would take the opportunity in front of him; he would sacrifice his life if it meant he had a chance to build a brighter future.

Of course, that moment Yao was standing right across the street from him. _War, huh?_ As much as Yao tried to remain as stoic as possible, he knew it was the end for the boy. Throughout centuries, there were a few who were good at playing hide and seek with him, but Ivan never had a gift for hiding and the only reason he maintained this long was because Yao had let him won. He did not want that boy to ever look at him with so much contempt in his eyes; therefore he refused to take him away. But he was now choosing to enter a battlefield…even he cannot protect him from death anymore.

It was not as if he was a stranger to war. A long time ago, he took delight in the clangor of the swords, the shouting of slaughter, the red-stained ground, and the piles of skeletons lying beneath his feet. He gladly took part in it, and was drunk in his own power. However with time, he got bored. He lost all joy in his predictable victories. He realized that humans didn't need him to start a war; they were very capable of doing that themselves. So Yao let them rip each other apart, like wild dogs freed of their leashes, humans killed for selfish ambitions, for pretentious honors, for foolish dreams, for survivals. Centuries passed, and his boredom turned to pity. There was still indifference, but he knew there was nothing he could do but to watch men fall like autumn leaves to the sound of gun fire and cannon. Yes, those feeble creatures had created weapons of destruction all in such a short span of time. There was simply nothing they could do, nothing they wanted to do, except to accumulate the amount of corpses in their neighbors' backyards. Yao no longer felt it was a game he could control, without his notice he had become a spectator in a ridiculous circus act where the acrobat performer fell to his death, and the tiger tamer got her head bit off. Ivan was now entering this mess of a show, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Yao liked to think that he was heartless, but he knew there was no point to lie to himself. He…cared, a word used for the lack of better word choice, for the boy. For what reasons, he did not dare to seek within himself, but he knew Ivan had a place in his physically nonexistent heart. Whether it was because the boy was not afraid of him when they first met, or the peace he felt whenever he was with him, it didn't matter since it all led to the same conclusion. He stayed away from him because he cared. He wanted nothing but to see even a glimpse of the bright-eyed boy he used to be. But the war would destroy his ever fragile mentality. Ivan was never strong to begin with; he could not endure life on the battlefield. _Haven't the boy suffered enough?_ Yao silently cursed fate. He would not let that happen. He already made his mistake of not taking away the boy when he was younger, this time Ivan would not have to suffer. Yao decided the next time he saw him in a world dyed with red, Ivan would die.

* * *

"I know where you're from," Yao's slender finger tilted Ivan's chin up and in those amethyst eyes, he saw the reflection of himself. The boy had grown into a fine specimen of a man despite of numerous scars and injuries. He had muscles from military training and rigorous exercise, and his bone structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical. An intruding nose and soft eyes were the highlights of his face, and Yao had no doubt that many human females would find him attractive. Regardless of his appearance, he was still a boy to Yao.

"Yao…" Ivan could not tell what was real or fake, but if this was a dream, it was a beautiful nightmare he never wished to wake up from. "Da, of course you would."

Both looked at each other as if they were meeting for the first time. Even though both had the image of each other engraved in their memories, they took in every little detail savoring the unattainable painting in front of them.

"Did you shrink since the last time I saw you, or did I just grow taller?" Even though he was sitting and Yao was standing, it was clear who would tower over whom if they were on equal grounds. Yao was still as ethereal as he remembered him to be, if not more stunning. However Ivan was bemused by the fact that he would easily dominate him in physically terms…if he was human.

As if reading his mind, Yao frowned and hardened his hold on his chin. "What a cheeky boy, are those the final words you would like to leave behind?"

"Nye, I haven't finished my proclamation from last time," He didn't know how or where he found the strength, but he rose up his arms and grabbed Yao's hand. Calloused hands tightly clasped over the pale palm, and he brought it over to his heart.

"I don't know what love is, and I doubt I will ever find out," Ivan started, his words shakier than he would've liked. "But whatever it is that I'm feeling right now, it must be the closest thing to love I will ever experience."

"The word you're looking for is fear." Not missing a single beat, Yao countered harshly.

"I'm not afraid of you Yao," Ivan said in an even voice that Yao could not detect any lies from.

"Well, you should be."

"But you would never hurt me," Ivan pulled him down so they were facing at eye level and Yao put up no resistance.

"You don't know that."

"I do." He had always wanted to say that. To tell Yao it was not his fault for anything that happened to him. To reassure him that he was not the monster he made himself out to be.

Resigned, Yao didn't know what to say. The silence was comforting, and time had stopped ticking just for their sake. Yao wondered about something he had never allowed himself to think about; he humored the thought that would amount to nothing in the end. He contemplated on the future he could've had with Ivan if he was human.

Where would they have met? As innocent children who began their encounter on the playground and a game of hopscotch? Or maybe it was as simple as a smile on the train station that linked the two strangers for years to come… Perhaps even something as cliché as a bump, spilled coffee, and a ruined shirt. What would happen then? Who would make the first move? Would Ivan woo him with flowers and surprises? Win over his heart with his sincerity and dedication? Or was it the other way around where Yao would fall for the quiet giant and hide his affection under false annoyance and untrue protests. And let's say if they were to share mutual feelings, would they dance their lives away under the bright lights of endless possibilities? Would they swirl and leap to the music of the moving clock, dancing freely beneath moonless nights and rising suns? And when they got tired of dancing, would they hold each other in tight embrace swaying to the sound of each others' heart beats? In their wrinkled skin and faded beauty, would they promise each other that not even death could do them apart… _Oh wait_ , Yao thought bitterly. He was death.

"Come with me, Ivan." Yao whispered. The dream had vanished like it was never there in the first place, like the whole thing had been a visual joke. A cruel joke on him.

"No, I can't," Ivan resisted the urge to give in to his pains; he wanted to be led away by Yao, but he knew it was not the way he wanted to leave the world. Ivan did not wish to be just another nameless soldier who died for a war he never believed in.

"You're assuming I'm asking for your permission." Yao kept his face plain. Calm. Serene. He could not let Ivan know the disappointment he was feeling.

"I'm not trying to… Yao, I," Ivan struggled to find the right words. "Yao, please."

"What makes you think you're so special?" Ivan flinched at the accusations, but Yao continued on. "Give me a good reason why I should let you live. You have three chances."

It was as if they were back at the game of hide and seek. Only this time Ivan was destined to lose.

"Yekaterina… my sister's waiting for me back home."

Yao shook his head at his pathetic effort. "You see that boy beside you on the right. His name was Leon. Like you, he had a sister too, not to mention two brothers. He didn't want to die, but it's not up to him." Yao briefly glanced at the unrecognizable corpse beside Ivan and sighed. "Look around you Ivan, this whole field is filled with young men who were no different from you, who fought to survive. I may even say that some were more deserving to live than you, so tell me. What makes you so special?"

There really was nothing special about him, but Ivan was not willing to give up. "The bear in the story…In the end the bear let Panda go because he would rather be alone than to let his friend die. He chooses loneliness over watching Panda in pain. The bear thought he was selfish, but he knew from the beginning that he would never make the decision of intentionally harming Panda."

A small smile curled on Yao's lips as fond memories resurfaced. "So you were pretending to sleep the whole time?"

"Da," Ivan replied.

"Well, that's a nice interpretation of the story. But let me correct you on one thing. Never assume you know what a person is going to do because you don't. You don't know his story; you don't know what he had to endure through those sleepless nights; you don't how deep his obsession run and to what length he is prepared to make the sacrifice. Never make the mistake of assuming you know the other person… And that's two strikes, one more to go."

 _Think, Ivan, think._ His heart clenched and he wondered if it was really the end for him. Then out of nowhere, two words came to mind.

"Yao…" The immortal waited for the last attempt.

"Not today."

It was not a reason. But when faced with death, one does not try to reason his way out of dying, one simply prolongs the time one has to live.

Yao laughed and pulled his hand away. He stood up and surveyed the wasteland in front of him. Thousands and thousands have just died. One life added or taken out of the equation did not make a difference. At least that was the excuse for sparing his life.

Maybe he still had something left in him to prove. Maybe that cherubic child was not gone after all… "Just so you know there will not be a second time," Yao softly murmured in his ears and one blink was all it took for him to disappear into thin air.

Even though he was again leaving alone; even though he failed to bring the boy with him, it was not anger he felt. It was a strange feeling of relieve. He was perhaps glad that Ivan chose to live.

* * *

 **AN: Once again thank you for reading this, it makes me very happy if you liked it even a tiniest bit :). The story is ending soon...I'm not going to say how many chapters are left, but I am saying that next chapter is going to be INTENSE. Be warned lol.**

 **Let me know what you think about the chapter, since it's the only way for me to know if it was enjoyable or not. Wherever you are, whoever you may be, please be safe and never give up on your dreams. Hugs and kisses ^J^**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I know I say this on every single chapter, but I'm truly grateful to you for reading this. Yes, YOU :)**

 **Warnings: this chapter contains mentions of alcohol, drugs, prostitution, depression, and self-harm. It's really not as bad as it sounds, since it's still rated T.**

* * *

The air was cold-a sure sign that winter was fast approaching. However to most people, it made no difference as pedestrians rush from one place to another, never stopping, never truly seeing. The city of dreams was laid beneath a night sky full of diamonds, yet the blinding lights of skyscrapers were the guide for lost souls, the destination for aspiring voyagers. Noises from all corners of the city cloaked any opportunities for meaningful conversations, but maybe the sense of disorientation was what most people were looking for these days. New York was a vast, intricate, labyrinth of noisy streets and alleys. The incessant honking of vehicles persisted perpetually throughout the day, never ceasing, never dying. Lights glittered everywhere just liked stars dropping to the earth, huge and small buildings collided in a mixture of shadow and geometry, tiny vehicles rushing along tangled lines of streets creating twisting threads of light - they all intertwined together in a magnificent mess of dream. New York was build upon dreams of many, and it continued to attract dreams like a lodestone.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair." A figure with ebony hair uttered softly to no one in particular. He couldn't remember where he heard it from, but it seemed fitting for the place he was in. He was used to not being seen by others, but even if he was visible he doubted anyone would notice him. In a sea of strangers, no one cared about anyone else except themselves.

The dawn of a new era was rapidly advancing. Decades of construction have made it the city that never slept. However it wasn't that long ago when it was but a land of many hills and old-growth forest. Yao wondered if people here knew how the city was built upon destructions of others. Maybe they did know, maybe they knew of the sacrifices. But what did it matter in the end, it was simply another glorious empire waiting for its fall. Perhaps not for another hundred years, but there would be a day when silence would claim its throne.

Yao passed impatient businessmen carrying suitcases rushing to places of glass and neon lights. He strolled through buildings with fancy names in even fancier letterings. The kind of places with perfumed atmospheres made all the more inviting by music and well groomed subservient staff. But just a few blocks away, misery spread throughout the air. Those who resided there were the outcasts of the society, the ones who had their dreams shattered and trampled on. The inner city grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an old junkie. The only splash of color in the grime came from the lurid graffiti and the sidewalks were littered with injection paraphernalia. From every covered doorway came the dejected stares of men and women in their pathetic cardboard sleeping bags. From upper windows came the boom of sub-culture music. The hookers stalked the streets in their skimpy outfits and high boots looking for work, their drug-addled bodies as thin as pins, and their cheekbones jutting out through pallid skin. Two completely different worlds, so close yet so far out of reach. That was what people living here had to come to accept.

"Hey mister, I can be a real help to you tonight." A girl with a mask caked with makeup called out to Yao. She was only wearing a tight leopard-print dress which clutched to her body revealing a skeleton-like frame. Marks of injection appeared all over her arms, and the cheap perfume which she had previously sprayed on to cover the stench of bodily fluids was coming off. To most people she would appear to be nearing her forties, but Yao knew she was only seventeen. Her time was coming as she was already infected by her sins. But Yao had other business to attend to. He had somewhere else to be.

Leaving the girl behind and passing several others similar to her along the way, Yao was getting closer and closer to his destination. He saw many whom he needed to pay a visit to sooner or later, but his mind was only on one person. Without his notice, he had arrived in front of an apartment hidden within an alleyway. Actually it resembled more of an unfinished construction project than an apartment building. The walls' exterior was decorated with explicit language and inappropriate graffiti extended beyond the outside. It had no door, so Yao easily slipped into the darkness that awaited him. It wasn't the lack of light that bothered him; it was the smell of human insanity and acceptable hopelessness that made him hesitant to proceed. These feelings emitted from souls who inhabited this building were not ones that seemed to fear death… Yao pushed down what could be described as annoyance and ascended upward. The staircase creaked and groaned in complaint as a pair of feet came thumping down the ageing stairs. One…Two…Three…Four… As he reached the final floor, he walked to the door in the furthest left corner and he stood. It seemed longer than any eternity he had to endure. He knew what lay behind that door, but he didn't want to see it with his own eyes. Funny how he didn't bat an eyelash during medieval torture scenes and watched kings burned their citizens alive, yet he was reluctant to face a child. With that thought in mind, Yao placed his hand on the locked doorknob and stepped inside.

Yao felt his heart drop as he gazed over the smoke-filled room. Empty vodka bottles stacked like unconquered mountains occupied most of the space. The air was polluted by the moisture of sweat, cigarette smoke, and the stink of weed. Flies and other insects made their homes in the unsanitary flat, and the only furniture Yao could recognize were a table missing a leg, a stool covered with a suspicious liquid, and a couch with stuffing poking out of tattered fabrics. There were needles spread around the apartment and on the windowsill stood a lone vase with a withered sunflower. Yao looked at all parts of the apartment but avoided, refused, to see the person walking towards him. He focused all of his attention on the dead flower as two hands rough as a cat's tongue cupped his cheeks. _Don't look, don't look._ But he soon found his eyes staring into the vacant violet as those hands moved his face directly towards the resident of this miserable place.

"I was wondering when you'd come, Yao ~" Ivan smiled and pressed his lips down against the cold borders.

* * *

Perhaps he ought to be a scientist one day; he had so many unanswered questions. But the joke wasn't even funny because he was Ivan Braginski. A nobody who couldn't even get hired for scrubbing the floors. Why was life so hard on him? Why couldn't he do anything right? Why was he even born? A scum like him didn't deserve to breathe the air and pollute it with his worthlessness. At least that was what his last employer had said. That and "commie bastard." Ivan struck a needle into his arm, and admired the stream of blood flowing down through the punctured vein. It hurt. It hurt so much. But he just wanted to feel something. If he couldn't receive love, he would gladly welcome pain.

After the war was finally over, Ivan left quietly for the journey home. He didn't carry the lives of the comrades he lost on the battlefield. He had no heroic tales to tell. He received scars that would never heal, but he hid them under a smile as his older sister embraced him like she would never let him go. 'I'm fine,' he told her, but he secretly hoped she would see through his lie. He still didn't know whether she did or not.

The money he earned from the army wasn't much, but it was enough for two tickets to America. His unspoken promise to Yekaterina was fulfilled as the siblings left their broken home in Russia for the land clothed under fifty stars. He had heard wondrous things about the country. They said it was a place for new beginnings and a home where all would be equal. Like moths attracted to the burning ignition of a flicking light bulb, they packed everything they owned into a small suitcase and headed for the states.

It was everything Ivan imagined it to be; the only thing was that he didn't have a place among the neon lights. Shortly after they arrived in New York, reality hit hard as they realize they didn't have a penny to their name. They slept on the streets like beggars in the beginning and with his broken English, Ivan desperately searched for any job he could find. He ignored the suspicious glares people shot at him wherever he went. He shut his ears to the things people had said about him behind his back or right to his face. But he would not forgive anyone if they dared to speak that way about his sister. One day Yekaterina came to the rundown restaurant he was working at for whatever reason he could not remember, but he remembered as clear as day when a customer muttered, "Ukrainian whore." He must have knocked him out pretty hard because the next thing he knew he was fired.

If there was one positive thing that came out of coming to America, it was that his sister got the happy ending she deserved. She met a man and they moved to the countryside. Yes, there were details he was omitting right now as his mind was getting hazier by the second, but it didn't matter because she still left him in the end. To be fair, she did ask him to come with them, but he knew he didn't have the right to disrupt his sister's newfound happiness. He was happy for her. Truly. But he despised that man for taking away his reason to live. For crying out loud, he came to the country for her! She was the one who wanted to see the world outside of Russia, not him! He knew it was wrong to blame her for his selfishness, but he needed a scapegoat to spill his rage. Ivan took another syringe of whatever drug he had left and injected into his arm.

When his sister left, Ivan changed his last name to Braginsky. He continued to stalk through the nights taking on any job he could find. But day after day he felt himself crumbling under the weight of living just for the sake of living. This despair was a heady blackness; the ways forward he had thought possible had vanished to black, not blocked, but like they were never there at all. The notion of hope had become meaningless, if his mind lingered on such ideas they would start to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as desert mirage. He tried so hard. He would walk through floors of spikes just to catch a glimpse of that luminous El Dorado. But a mere glass window would show his reflection for what he was. Pathetic. Useless. Undeserving to live.

His life was written like a tragedy, except he was never some glorious hero to begin with. He felt suffocated by the emptiness eating away at his heart, so he wasted away the pitiful amount of money he earned on whores, alcohol and drugs. He wanted to feel something, anything. He drowned himself in vodka as the liquid became nothing but tap water for him. He pounded harshly into whoever was beneath him seeking the illusion of intimacy. Drugs became the gateway to escape reality. But after he ran out of alcohol, after the hallucinations had died down, after the prostitutes had left… He wanted nothing more than to peel off his own skin one strand at a time.

Stranded on the island of smoke and desolation, Ivan wanted to know how long he could be the king of this dystopia. It started with him scratching his arm until he drew blood. It continued with several slits across his wrist. But it still wasn't enough. Nothing could satisfy the growing emptiness as vast as the land he was born in. Just how much blood did he have to spill to feel human again?

Time decomposed him like a walking corpse, meat on bones, ready to be nailed into a coffin and swallowed by darkness. But amidst the darkness, he could see an outline in red. _Yao…_ Yao. Yao. Ivan chanted his name over and over again every time when he would run a sharp metal through his bleeding body. He was determined to do whatever it took to see him. He had done everything he could.

Ivan sighed as he realized that he had emptied yet another syringe. Feeling disappointed that he used up his last stock, he was just about to pick at his infected wound when he felt his heart stop for a moment too long. _No, it couldn't be._ Yet he could hear thunderous footsteps choking the sound of his own heartbeat. He could smell him. He could feel his presence coiling like a snake around his body. Maybe the effects of the drug were finally starting to sink in. But this was different from the other times… Closer and closer. With every step, Ivan found it difficult to breath. Now he was just behind that door; only a thin piece of wood separated them. Ivan had a sudden urge to tear it down, but Yao was one step ahead of him as the door squeaked open. _He didn't even bother to knock._

There was not a single change in his appearance since the first time he saw him. Otherworldly and magnificent, Yao finally came to him. But was he always this demure looking? Why was he suddenly so young and fresh-faced? He looked like those people living under bright lights and glass buildings… Ivan realized it was not Yao who changed, but him. He was no longer the innocent child who could weave elaborate braids through the immortal's silky hair; he was no longer the reckless teenager who didn't know a thing about the world; he was no longer the young soldier who held on to his sanity. Suddenly ashamed at what he had become, Ivan looked down at his drooping fat, scars new and old, and bloodless skin covered with unexplained stretch marks and dark patches from the bursting of blood vessels. When was the last time he saw him? Nine…ten years ago? Juvenile concerns began flooding his mind as he worried that Yao would recoil in disgust upon seeing his horrendous form. But Yao appeared emotionless. In fact he wasn't even looking at him.

 _Why?_ Why was Yao pretending that he was not even here? Despite how much he changed physically over the years, he was still Ivan. He was still _his_ Ivan. He walked over to the immortal like he was floating on air and carefully put his hands on Yao's cheeks. His skin was more smooth than rose petals, and the iciness sparked a burning desire he didn't know existed. It was not fair how Yao remained so beautiful, yet he had shriveled up to a carcass of who he used to be. But Yao didn't care about that, right? Yao would never abandon him again because he had tried so hard to make Yao acknowledge him all these years. Yao was the only one who cared for him. The only one who ever would. Like a sunflower desperately grasping for warmth, he kissed him.

* * *

The kiss was not one shared between lovers; it was a reckless attempt, a last ditch effort to feel loved.

"Yao," Ivan slowly removed his chapped lips from Yao's mouth and searched for any reaction from the immortal. There was none. No embarrassment, shock, or even anger… just the same old indifference in his cold eyes. "Why are you being like this?" His trembling hand reached for the glossy black hair and twirled strands of it around his finger. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Stop this nonsense right now Ivan." Oh but he couldn't stop. He was too far gone in the deep end. Yao's words carried no weight since he no longer wanted to resist death. If death tasted so delicious, he wouldn't mind devouring him in whole.

As if the god of narcotics had given him inhumane strength, Ivan pushed Yao against the ground littered with garbage and empty bottles. He watched his dark mane splatter all over the floor like they were careful strokes of a Chinese watercolor painting. He looked so small under him… where did that commanding deity go? Yao almost looked human. Almost.

Ivan grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled on it harshly as his mouth found its way on Yao's neck. He gnawed hungrily, leaving trails of kisses and marks of possessive nature. He wondered if he bit hard enough, could immortals bleed? His teeth grazed against the velvet skin, and strings of saliva coated the delicate neck. But it was still not enough. He wanted more. He needed more. He was done with being alone.

"I love you so much," Ivan said as he ripped apart the clothes covering Yao's shoulder, above the chest. "Please take me Yao, anywhere!" He deepened his kisses on his shoulder blades. "Even if it's to the gates of hell, I would gladly go with you."

"Don't speak of that so lightly." After listening to the noises of whatever Ivan was doing to him, Yao spoke faintly.

"That's where you're wrong; all these years I thought about this. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had! Don't you see…No one cares about me! It will not make a difference if I live or die. No one will mourn my death! The world doesn't need another failure!" Ivan tightened his grip on Yao's waist. "I can't live like this anymore. Please Yao… if you ever cared about me, please take me with you."

"Ivan…" Yao pulled up his limp arm and ruffled Ivan's tangled hair tenderly. "I was planning to bring you sunflowers, but it seems like I was too late."

Ivan did not understand. What did sunflowers have anything to do with what he just said? It seemed like another lifetime ago when he told Yao that he resembled a sunflower. But only now did he realize that he was the sunflower who was desperate for light. Brick by brick, his walls came tumbling down. Unconsciously he began shaking uncontrollably, and he let out a cry that shook the building and threatened to demolish it down to dry wood and stones. Ivan buried his head into Yao's neck and cried like he was a newborn baby who just took his first breath of air.

His crying was both ferocious and noisy. He blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, his thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he'd been swimming. The tears made wet tracks down his face and dripped from his stubbled, wobbling chin onto Yao's collar. Clear watery snot streaked from his flaring nostrils down his red mottled skin to his open quivering lips. His hands tensely clenched Yao's slender wrist, as if he was the only anchor that could keep him grounded from flying off into the abyss of oblivion.

"Shh Ivan, it's ok," Yao warped his arms around the crying man and held him in a tight embrace. "Even if nobody cares about you, even if the whole world hates you. You cannot give up on yourself." The sound of his crying never ceased. "I know it's hard sometimes, and I can't promise you it will get better. But that little boy I saw in Moscow is a fighter. And I know this from the first time I laid my eyes on him. So fight, Ivan Braginski. Rage against the dying of the light."

They remained like that until Ivan had cried his heart out and all his tears were dried.

"Yao, take me to that place you spoke of… the place with sunflowers where the bear and panda lived happily ever after."

Ivan lifted his face up from the nook of his neck and brushed strands of black hair away from his face. For the first time in Ivan's life, he saw what closely resembled love reflected from Yao's eyes.

"Not today." Yao said with words barely audible. His voice was no more than the sound of soft susurration of leaves in the autumn wind. Then he was gone.

Ivan found himself lying alone on the cold floor of his apartment. Even though Yao could've been another one of his hallucinations, even though his fate was irreversible at this point, he was willing to give life one more try.

* * *

 **AN: The end? Lol, just kidding, there will be one more chapter after this.**

 **I feel like there are moments in one's life, no matter how privileged or happy one may seem, where you just think about how insignificant your life actually is compared to the grand scheme of things. Like if it's actually worth it to keep going. But at the end of the day, you don't want to give up because there's so much you still want to do. I wanted this story to portray human perseverance and the idea of never giving up even though it's only you against the world.**

 **References:** **"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."- A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens**

 **"the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had"- Mad World(song) by Gary Jules**

 **"Rage against the dying of the light"- Dylan Thomas**

 **Once again, please leave me a review because I look forward to them so much! Last chapter is coming up! Be safe and happy ^J^**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Finally! Last chapter! T.T**

* * *

Then spring was here. The season breathed new winds over the desolate landscape. The disheveled grasses soon became lush, erasing even the memory of their wintry selves. The trees budded with leaf and blossom, and the harsh sleet became soft rain. The remnants of snow had entirely vanished and the rivers swelled with the melt water. Sunflowers swayed and pirouetted to the arrival of spring, and for the first time in eighty years, bloomed next to a man who, just like them, craved the warmth of sunlight. However unlike them, whose very existence was striving in celebration, his story was nearing its end. But he was alright with it; he had fought off the inevitable for a long time now.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing!" Ivan winced at the shrilling voice, wondering why young people nowadays liked to make a big deal out of everything. "You shouldn't be out of your bed! What should I do… ugh the nurses are going kill me!" Oppressing laughter, Ivan thought it was rather funny that the young girl was looking at him as if he was caught in a crime scene, when in reality he just wanted to take a closer look at the sunflowers outside his window.

Natalya goggled at the old man who looked like he was about to fall over any second. While she fused over how she was ever going to get him to his bed safely, Ivan had already shuffled back to his mattress.

"See, I'm quite capable of navigating around my room," Ivan smiled warmly as folds of wrinkles deepened around the corners of his mouth. "You needn't worry so much, my dear."

Begrudgingly, she let out a sign, "Well, don't do that again. Nurses said you are strictly to stay in bed unless you are… you know, attending to your business, then I'll call for them."

Unfazed by her words, Ivan studied the intricate pattern of a phoenix flying through clouds of peonies embroidered on his draping blanket. He said, "Who do you see when you look at an old man like me? Someone who couldn't even depend on himself for the smallest of things? Well, I suppose that is who I am now. But sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, I am surprised by this body I'm stuck in. I wonder if this could possibly be me, then I remember the years that flew by. You never really feel like the age you are, you know."

"So what age do you feel you are?" Natalya inquired curiously.

"Would it be utterly ridiculous if I say twenty-something?" As a reply, she let out a jolly laugh and Ivan soon joined in laughing with her.

Four months have passed since Natalya had applied to volunteer at the senior home. And on her first day there, she was put to the visiting section and was introduced to Ivan, a man who was already in his eighties. By no means was she an altruistic person, she merely though it would look nice on her university application. But when she rested her eyes on the aging man, she felt fondness towards him as if he was her own grandfather. The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present. But mostly they were so deeply engrained they told or a man who had travelled through nine decades to that moment; to stand here as an old man. Even though he was as ancient as he could be, Natalya could see the man he once was through his exuberant violet eyes that were as bright as a child's.

She soon became attached to him as she learned that he was the only resident at the center who had no visitors. He told her that his only living relative, his older sister, had passed away a few years ago. During her weekly visits, she had found out that his favorite flower was sunflower, his favorite color was red, his less favorite season was winter, and he owned a flower shop before his retirement. She knew there was more to him than a kind grandpa figure who adored sunflowers, but she thought it was not her place to ask about his past, plus she didn't care enough to ask. It was not to say she didn't care about him, but like everyone else she also had her own life, own worries. So Ivan simply became a strange, but gentle elder to her.

"Have I ever told you that I knew a girl who had the same name as you when I was younger?" Ivan smiled at the young girl who had her eyes glued to her phone.

"Hmm," the girl did not even bother to forge interest as she furiously typed away on her phone. It just came to her knowledge that her brother was going out with a Chinese classmate of his. It wasn't that she was totally against the idea of her brother having a boyfriend, but it would have helped if he told her about it!

"My goodness, I must have been four or five back then…" Ivan continued despite knowing her lack of attention. "We met on the day I was kicked out by my birth mother. Sharing similar fate as me, we were the hopeless children who were waiting to die on the cold streets of Moscow. But she was stronger than me, she still believed in a world where she could be happy. So she made me promise her that I would not give up no matter what, and if we ever meet again, we would be different people living the lives we always hoped we would. Of course I never saw her again…"

"Well I was named after my great-grandmother, and if I remember correctly she came from Russia," Natalya briefly glanced at him before directing her attention to her phone once again, "So, you never know…"

Ivan chuckled wistfully. He doubted that her great-grandmother and the girl he knew was the same person since Natalya was a very common name in Russia. But it was nice to imagine that they were both somehow able to fulfill their promise. It was not entirely impossible; after all fate worked in the strangest ways.

"Natalya, would you do me a favor and get my scarf for me please." Ivan felt bad for interrupting whatever business she was so adsorbed in, but he feared that if he attempted to get it himself the girl would have another fit.

"The white one?" She asked absentmindedly.

"That's the one."

Finally letting go of her phone, Natalya walked to the other side of the room and reached for the scarf that was hung on the hat hanger. Only when she handed the scarf to Ivan that she questioned why he would want it in the first place. He only wore the scarf for special events like music nights, or outdoor parties. "If you don't mind me asking, why so fancy today?" She wondered.

"That day is upon me," he looked outside the window, staring into the distant as if he could see otherworldly beings hidden within the realm of everyday life.

"I don't understand…"

"An old friend of mine is coming for a visit."

* * *

Just as Natalya slipped out of the senior home with her mind still worrying about the nonsense Ivan was sprouting, another figure entered the building. He came in undetected except by a few residents who thought him to be the grandson of perhaps a lucky occupant. Dressed in black suits and long hair tied up in a low ponytail, he hummed a nostalgic melody as he waltzed through the hallways, feet barely touching the ground. The hallway was brightly lit, and everything that could shine, did shine. There was stainless steel; sleek floors and the art on the walls were all natural images in colors as bright as glacier melt-water or spring flowers. The air had a pure fragrance, not sterile, just clean. In the background played music at just the right level to give the residents and staff an emotional lift.

He paused in front of a door with the nameplate "Ivan Braginsky" decorated with sunflower stickers and smiley faces. Smiling at the childish embellishments, he pushed against the door and let himself in.

Ivan watched as the door was opened by invisible hands, and felt his heart stop as Yao entered his room.

"Long time no see, Ivan," Yao bowed a little before fixating his eyes on the man lying in bed.

"Long time indeed…" Ivan choked on his words as he was overwhelmed by emotions he haven't felt in many decades. "Come here Yao, I fear my eye sights have been deteriorating over the years."

Yao obliged and moved right beside his bed while Ivan propped himself up against his pillow. If he could, Ivan would throw himself into his arms, but he knew he was no longer a child. Instead he opted for the safer option and reached for his hands. Wrinkled hands tightly clasped over the tender skin, he swore he would never let it go, not again.

"My Yao-Yao is still so beautiful," Ivan commented on his youthful appearance. "It's such a shame that I've grown this old while you remained so pretty."

"I've never liked being called pretty."

"I know," Ivan smiled. "You preferred being called beautiful, that's why I used that adjective first."

"You brat," Yao grumbled good-humouredly before softening his eyes. "Ivan, the human body is merely a vessel which ages with the passage of time. No matter how much you changed physically, you will always be Ivan to me. My Vanya. "

 _When did he become such a sweet talker?_ Ivan bit down on his lips, refusing to let the teardrops fall. It would be most unbecoming to cry on such a joyous day. He knew that Yao was not one for explicitly displaying any signs of affection, and he rarely called him "Vanya" saved for a few times during his childhood. So this must truly be his last visit.

Ivan quickly wiped away any wetness forming below his eyes and said, "For old time's sake, would you let me braid your hair one last time?"

Yao raised an eyebrow at the odd request before sitting down on the mattress with his back facing Ivan and released his hair so that they tumbled over his shoulders as waves of riptides.

His hair shone like the sea at night, the black strands utterly white where the bright rays fell. As Ivan slowly run his fingers through his inky strands, those brilliant bands swayed like echoes of the northern lights. Trembling, Ivan began weaving different sections of hair over each other but just as he was about to reach the end, he accidentally loosened his hold on the braid and the whole thing undid itself right before his eyes. His hands were no longer as dexterous as they used to be, Ivan thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry Yao…"

"About the braid?" Yao glanced back at him. "Well don't be, I don't care about my hair."

"No, about everything…" He spoke slowly as if words could shatter the frail piece of glass holding his world in place. "I'm sorry that you waited so long for me."

"Ivan…" Yao turned around so he was now facing Ivan.

"I'm scared Yao… I'm so scared of what happens next," his voice quivered as he thought about the end that was the beginning. "You gave me more than eighty years, and even though it was more than enough, who can say that they lived a truly content life? Who isn't afraid of the unknown?"

"Well, are you afraid of me?"

"No." It was the only truth he knew.

"Then don't think about anything else except being with me." The glass broke and Ivan found himself falling through buildings of smoke, hurling to an invisible floor.

"You're right… I'm sure I'll be fine if you're here with me," his vision was getting blurrier but he held on to Yao's hands.

"Yao…"

"Yes?"

"I don't know if I ever told you this, but you… you were always my light."

Ivan did not know if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but for the merest of seconds, it looked like beads of water were sliding down the immortal's face.

"And you were mine too."

Ivan Braginsky died that night. A few staff members mourned over his death. A young volunteer who only knew him as a kind elder who loved sunflowers attended his funeral. But eventually, his death was all but forgotten. From nothing was he born into this world and into dust was what his remains became. History would not remember him; you would not know him, but he would not be forgotten by a particular immortal.

 _There is deep meaning in a parting:_

 _fleeting love, eternal love-_

 _love's but a dream, a dream's but a moment…_

 _Today, tomorrow-awakening is imminent._

 _And you wake up, at last._

* * *

 **AN: THANK YOU SO MUCH! Thank you for giving this story a chance, and sticking with it to the end!**

 **The poem at the end is by a Russian poet called Fyodor Tyutchev (1803-73)**

 **I have a few ideas planned out for more rochu stories, but this one will always have a special place in my heart. I hope you liked reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Tell me what you think (any feedback is appreciated), and I'll see you next time.**

 **Hugs and Kisses ^J^**


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